


Regrets Upon Regrets

by voldydoitsu



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, This is post finale, hardcore angst ok, some people didn't realize it apparently...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 08:22:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10433508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voldydoitsu/pseuds/voldydoitsu
Summary: Ford likes to reflect on his past. Sometimes it gives him insight into the future, and helps with any problem similar to come up. And sometimes it pushes him further into the depth of a dark ocean of despair.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another writing prompt! 2 in one night, how amazing. Instead of mp100 like usual, i really felt like a gravity falls mood from the prompt. People will probably tell me Ford is ooc, but that's kind of the point here.
> 
> prompt:  
> "Don’t think my heart’s where it wasn’t  
> Where do I go now? I go to you  
> Why, why, why  
> Whatever you said, it wasn’t funny  
> Don’t try and lighten the mood  
> You broken my love, why  
> Remember, don’t walk away  
> You broken my love, why  
> Lie about it, like what you did with your memories  
> You broken my everything  
> The feeling is now gone  
> You don’t need to come back  
> Yet it’s—still you."  
> -Le Ho san (Star Project)

He sat down silently, wooden chair creaking in the echoing darkness of the basement. Once so proud of this room, as it did was stand as a reminder of his past mistakes. He liked to sit there sometimes and just think. Wallow in self-misery. All the things he had done wrong, here they all intersected. He tapped his fingers against his skull, taking comfort in the small *clang* he heard with every finger fall.

Once upon a time he had gathered most of the things on the desk behind him and threw them in a trash bag. "Useless." He had said. "Taking up space." He had thought. Pictures, notes scrawled in a different handwriting, all these things were removed. His heart groaned and moaned as he thought about it. He had no right... this wasn't his place anymore. No, he hadn't used this place any longer than the previous participant had, but he still pretended he had some kind of claim to it.

Cursing internally, he curled his hands into fists and shoved them into his eyes, knocking his glasses off of his head. How had he messed up so badly? Why was he so selfish, so concerned with his own problems and made up fantasies that he thought a simple picture frame was an enemy. He was so delusional, and all he ever did was hurt others.

Flashes of memories flew under his eyelids, and he clawed at his cheeks in a sort of sick desperation. He hated seeing things, remembering all that was. The good and the bad were all stuck under a film of disgust. He had ruined all of it. Created the bad, ruined the good, tainted what was once pure with his own insanity. People said he was the smart one, but what good does smarts do for him when the price is his own brother?

All he could do lately was remember. He had to. It was unfair to his brother, his innocent little brother, to leave him in the darkness that yet again Ford had created for him. Leaving Stan in the unknown just because he felt uncomfortable was unacceptable. He would not allow himself the so-called luxury of forgetting. He needed this as much as Stan did.

Convincing himself of things was always so easy. He was the hero. Only he could stop Bill. It was his house and not Stanley's. Stanley would be fine in the world. Stanley doesn't need help. It's all his fault. Red marks blossomed on his cheeks from where he had been scratching, six rows cutting deep. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to get his attention away from those cursed memories.

He stood up, cheeks sore, and walked upstairs. The night air hid him in shades of darkness, as though his sick mind was encasing him in a cocoon of dark thoughts. Stalking through the kitchen, he took a seat at the three person table in the center. His hand smoothed over the table, feeling the wear of an old relic well-used. It was in near-perfect condition, with specks of glitter stuck in the cracks. Of course it was.

His mind whirled back downstairs to the broken structure looming in the sealed room. That had been in perfec condition as well, hadn't it. Stanely must have obsessed over it. It was always a nervous tick of his to start cleaning when getting frustrated with no outlet. Ma had helped him get that out.

He blinked. Ah, another memory to show his brother. How clean the shack had been when he had arrived, 30 years too late. Everything was spotless. In the corner of his eye, Ford caught a small gleam of light reflecting off of a mirror in the hall way. He refused to look at it, though the reminder brought up yet more memories. Too-long grudges, held up like a knife to his brother's throat. "This is my house" he had said. Oh, how he wanted to laugh at those words now.

Nothing had ever been familiar in that house since he had been back. Except for his bedroom, perfectly kept clean. He had originally thought Stan would take his room for his own, but instead the guest room had been personalized by the old man. This house was in no way his anymore. How could he just claim that it was?

The steps creaked, drawing his attention to the hallway he had been avoiding. He met eyes with the man in question, who seemed to have been watching him. When their eyes met, he seemed to hesitate. Did he want to join him...? He gestured him closer, encouraging him.

Suddenly, Stan was like the little boy Ford once knew. His eyes lit up at the invitation, and he quickly made him way over to where Ford was sitting. He was so happy just to sit near him. Ford was forced to look away, throat on fire from the inside out. He couldn't speak even if he wanted to.

Luckily for him, Stanley didn't seem to want that. He sat there silently, watching Ford with a small smile on his face, content. Ford's eyes caught aflame, though he desperately fought the tears back. Stan didn't need to see this. Stan didn't deserve this from Ford. He had spurned him in all ways, but still Stanley came back to him with a smile. He should just leave him alone. Leave him to die with his wo-

A hand laid on his, and their eyes met. Blue looking into blue. Stanley still smiling, reached over and wiped the tears away wordlessly. He couldn't possibly know or remember why Ford was crying, but it was comforting. Like home. The good memories he had tainted, of his brother being kind and small and happy. He couldn't hold back the tears. What a mess he was.

Stan didn't care. He held him, smiling. He must not have understood, Ford knew this, but he felt waves of sympathy and empathy. His twin really was a godsend. He sobbed loudly at the thought, coughing. Stanley was too much for him. He was too much...

The hug grew tighter, and Ford allowed himself to melt into Stan's arms, children once more.


End file.
